


a chapter starts anew

by phyripo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 20th Century, Alternate Universe - Actors, Death from Old Age, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 19:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyripo/pseuds/phyripo
Summary: Manon Leclercq is a world famous actress who never had time to build a life between her roles. Until she meets Erzsébet Héderváry.





	a chapter starts anew

**Author's Note:**

> > _Now when you think it's all over, you find love_  
>  _A flower starts to bloom, a chapter starts anew_  
>  _The greatest moment in life_
> 
> **-[Larger Than Life](https://youtu.be/ZcUWx885bu4)**
> 
>  
> 
> I've been meaning to put this one on AO3 for a long time, really. So here you go! If you want to reblog it on tumblr or anything, you can do that [her e](http://phyripowritesthings.tumblr.com/post/156995603435/no-one-told-me-it-was-femslash-february-before-the)
> 
> FEATURING  
> Manon - Belgium  
> Erzsébet - Hungary  
> Antonio - Spain  
> Martin - Netherlands  
> Noah - Luxembourg

She had been one of the first of her kind. Some people would argue that she was the only of her kind, but she never believed that.

Her name had buzzed around theaters and smoke-filled bars, hummed to the tune of rock-n-roll hits, whispered reverently by young girls putting on bright red lipstick and young men trying to get to them.

She had wondered if it was all worth it, at that point.

Manon Leclercq. Was that her? Was she the person going on stage to collect award after award? Were those her arms heavy with flowers? Who  _was_  Manon Leclercq?

She flitted from role to role without pause, without consideration for much else. She always had been a hard worker; sometimes, she could feel the blisters on her fingers from the factory work she had done during the war still, as clear as she could see the scar on her elder brother’s face or the guarded closeness on her younger one’s.

She had only been 21 when she’d done her first movie, and sometimes Manon felt like she hadn’t sat down since. Like, maybe, she had forgotten to build something of her own in-between the lives of Lady Jane and Detective Michelle and her series of sequels.

Her brothers, bless them, spread out across the world, but wrote often of their amazing travels. Martin, the oldest of them, sent pictures and short poems. Noah sent souvenirs and foreign words. Manon read their scribbly handwritings on film sets in America, Iceland, Spain and Japan and had the feeling they were taking her more places than she was taking herself. She loved acting, didn’t doubt that she always would, but sometimes she thought that her entire life had become a movie, and not a particularly exciting one to watch.

In the late fifties, as her roles grew more prolific, she acquired a co-star in this strange movie. Well, Antonio liked to call himself her right-hand man. Or her friend. It took her a while to come around to that one.

The first full feature in color she did was with him, and the audience had been enamored with his bright green eyes. Manon liked him, and recognized that he was very handsome, but felt as though she was missing the real appeal.

People assumed they were together. They never were. It was strange even to them sometimes, that something that seemed so natural was not, in fact, the case, but they could laugh about it.

Manon was offered her first role as a mother in 1961, when she was 35. Antonio laughed at her. She accepted the part. Critics were loving. She stuck her tongue out at Antonio when she finished her Oscar acceptance speech. He swung her off the ground afterwards and probably started a whole slew of new rumors. She didn’t really care, even if Martin ranted in his letters that Antonio wasn’t good enough for her and she should watch her back.

Manon grew older, and her roles grew, but she wasn’t sure that she did so herself. Even on her fortieth birthday, she still felt like the country girl coming into the big city she’d been at 21, albeit with dyed hair and crow’s feet around her eyes. She watched Antonio and Martin snipe at each other affectionately, Noah trying to defend his beard by saying it was  _fashionable_. There was still so much life stretched out before her, god willing, and she was happy but wanted something more.

Over the years, Manon had been with a few men. Because they were nice, and it was what was expected of her. It wasn’t until 1972 that everything fell into place.

Her name was Erzsébet Héderváry, but almost everyone called her Liz. She was from Hungary and told the most interesting stories about life on the other side of the Curtain, and even if some of them seemed completely unbelievable, Manon kept listening to the woman’s accented voice, enraptured. Familiar words took on new shapes on her tongue and smiling lips. She worked on the photography for Manon’s latest movie and didn’t seem to grasp how  _big_  Manon was around here.

It was refreshing.

Erzsébet had green eyes too, and Manon finally saw the appeal, though it wasn’t because of the color. It was because they crinkled and lit up with sparkles when she smiled, sometimes shone with repressed longing for her distant home country. They seemed to see Manon for who she was, which was as confusing as it was thrilling, because who  _was_  that, anyway?

Manon Leclercq, 47 years old, properly in love for the first time in her life. With a woman.

She wondered if Erzsébet saw that, too, and what she thought of it.

She told Antonio, because god knew Antonio was enjoying the sexual revolution as if he were 26 again and being proclaimed the country’s most eligible bachelor. He laughed, but quickly turned serious when he realized that Manon was.

He said, as he almost always did, to let everything flow its natural course, which sounded hippie-ish enough that Manon hung up on him in a huff.

Still, she took the advice.

It led to a friendship with Erzsébet, who was, so it turned out, two years older than Manon, and gladly taught her Hungarian words, had a habit of dropping by whenever she was around and calling at odd times when she wasn’t. She was as dedicated to her art as Manon was to hers, which Manon admired immensely.

And, as Antonio miraculously settled down and started doing musicals – playing a surprising amount of villain roles before moving on to directing –, Martin published his poems and Noah fell in love with a woman on a faraway island, Manon passed fifty and only fell deeper for Erzsébet with every laugh, every flick of brown hair and every word about her performances, positive or negative. Erzsébet was never afraid to tell Manon what she truly thought, which was just another good thing about her.

Manon’s roles slowly dwindled down, and she decided to take some time off –  _take some time off!_  – when she had been offered three witch parts in a row.

Erzsébet laughed, told her that she was far too beautiful to be a witch, and came with her without her having to ask. They went to see Antonio and Manon’s brothers and travelled through as much of Europe as they could.

When Manon came back home in 1980, she found that the press didn’t wonder en masse where she’d been like they once would have. Things were coming to an end, apparently. There were new faces to wear the masks she’d donned, and even if red lipstick and petticoats had long since gone out of style and it was all jeans and neon now, she was certain much remained the same, and was happy to give advice to younger actors playing her children, or even her grandchildren, when she got back to her job.

Still, there was more free time now. Time to sit back and reflect on life. Time to drink wine with Erzsébet and Antonio and listen to them banter about the latest musicals or the cinematography of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which Manon still hadn’t seen after eight years despite Antonio trying to drag her to special showings every year.

She finally watched it on VHS with running commentary from Erzsébet. The commentary was the best part – she wasn’t sure about the movie itself. It was  _strange._ Erzsébet had a lot to say about the camera work but also sang along to all the songs, horribly.

When it was 1983, and Erzsébet had not stopped singing Africa in months, Manon won an Oscar for Best Actress. It wasn’t her first, but she knew with certainty it would be the last. She wasn’t old, but she was old enough, and that year off with Erzsébet had shown her what she wanted for the rest of her life.

Erzsébet followed her into retirement, no questions asked, and with a minimum of protests about Manon covering most of their expenses.

They saw the country together. Erzsébet followed the situation in Hungary with apparent anxiety. Manon learned to play the guitar and went to see a musical Antonio was directing that had songs written by Martin. Noah came back from his island with two daughters, and dressed in all black.

Erzsébet kissed Manon on her fifty-ninth birthday. It was so surreal that she forgot to kiss back, leading to Erzsébet pulling away, face stony but beautiful green eyes panicked. They flitted around the garden nervously. There was a smudge of Manon’s red lipstick on her lips.

Manon touched her own mouth, then pulled Erzsébet down when she tried to stand up.

Her hair was soft between Manon’s fingers, her lips dry beneath hers, and the soft sound she made when she kissed back would be seared into Manon’s memory for the rest of her life.

Antonio screamed at her in excitement when she told him. Martin just hummed as he tended to do, but he looked pleased. Noah and Manon’s nieces were quietly happy. It was more than she possibly could have hoped for.

The press staunchly refused to acknowledge the mere  _possibility_  of Manon and Erzsébet being anything beyond very good friends. While Manon scathingly thought they probably didn’t want their precious  _piece of movie history_  sullied by the fact that she happened to be in love with a woman, it also suited them quite well like that.

They traveled to Hungary in 1990, and Erzsébet cried for the first time in all those years Manon had known her. Her shoulders shook when she sank to her knees in the place where she had grown up, love and hate and sadness and bliss spilling out while her grey-streaked hair curtained her off from the rest of the world.

Yet, she had never been more beautiful to Manon. She loved this woman.

1995 marked the first time Manon’s relationship with Erzsébet was acknowledged without a hint of malice or underlying criticism.

Manon, who had by then earned the status of ‘icon’, which she loved and hated – it made her feel  _very_  old, but it  _was_  an honor – took her to a gala, and who said no to an  _icon_  of the film industry when she said the woman by her side was her life partner, right?

The press were mostly neutral on them. Manon attributed it to the fact that she really wasn’t that interesting anymore, no matter what Erzsébet told her with that gorgeous, familiar face of hers.

Manon was often told that she’d aged with grace, but she dyed her hair still, and her hands were quickly becoming alarmingly unsteady. Erzsébet, even with grey hair, looked every bit as youthful as the day Manon had first met her. And that  _wasn’t_  Manon’s prejudice talking, no matter what she said about  _that_.

Noah disappeared in the spring of 1997, on one of his aimless trips around the world. His last postcard was sent from Slovenia, saying he was traveling east and sending much love to his grandchildren, and then there was nothing. Manon reckoned that was probably the way Noah preferred things. He’d always been fond of the mysterious.

Antonio forgot who Erzsébet was, but never Manon, not once. He recited a line from their first movie together with his last breath.

Martin did a surprisingly heartfelt poem at his memorial. Erzsébet held Manon’s hand, stroking the frail skin wordlessly. She didn’t cry. Erzsébet Héderváry didn’t cry, except for that one time in Hungary.

The second exception to that rule happened in December 2005. Manon told her to stop it, then. She didn’t want the last thing she saw to be her teary face. Erzsébet laughed through her tears and complained that Martin had taken way too long with her. Manon told her he’d been writing a poem as quickly as he could, which wasn’t very quick when his fingers never stopped shaking and the words could take minutes to find. Nevertheless, it was a wonderful poem.

Wasn’t it cruel, that Martin was the last one of them left, when he was the oldest?

Rather than telling her he wasn’t the last one left yet, Erzsébet told stories about her childhood and about their life together, some heavily embellished as always. It made Manon smile.

Manon Leclercq, iconic movie star, passed away aged 79, in the company of her life partner, Erzsébet Héderváry.

No one but them ever knew that she opened her eyes a last time, felt time slipping away as Erzsébet grasped her fingers, and whispered to her.

“I love you.”


End file.
